Thoughts of a Dying Angel
by StarlitWave10
Summary: What happens when the heart of a statue begins to melt?


This idea came to me inadvertently from amaleia-rose on tumblr. I'm sorry if I got some parts incorrect where it comes to Weeping Angels, but hey, that's why they call it fanfiction XD. In any case, I hope you enjoy this...moderately short one-shot.

The boy had hair of fire. Everyone else always seemed to float by, to glide, but he _burned_, filling my vision and igniting…_something _within me.

I wanted to touch him. Not the fabric that covered his everyone else's skin, but _him, _to see if he would burn me the way his hair looked as if it could.

This feeling seemed normal, at first. We Angels live off of other humans' potential energy, and we send them back in time by tapping them, or prodding them, or even, on occasion, bumping into them.

I did not know why he had entered the house. Perhaps he was curious, the way that blond girl and her dark-haired friend had been all those years ago. My sister had been the one to tap the friend. I was an inch away from claiming the blonde's energy as my own.

But this strange young man…the first time I saw him, I wanted to _caress _his skin, feel its fluidity and softness beneath my own. I reached out a hand before any of my sisters could, ready to gently glide my fingers over his face-

But I stopped myself that day. His back was still turned, his eyes roaming over the courtyard, now brimming with flowers, but I couldn't allow myself to touch him. I backed into my corner just before he turned around, and covered my face.

I couldn't let him see me weep.

When he left, I remained frozen to the spot, ignoring my sisters' silent, but icy, complaints. It seemed as though I were encased in a box of ice, and I suddenly longed for the warmth of his skin. I wondered if I would feel _alive_ if I touched him. I wondered if this strange ache that appeared in my chest when he left would finally vanish.

The sun, like always, ignored my presence, preferring to burn those with actual skin rather than statues. The courtyard, for once, appeared strangely inviting and comforting. Perhaps because that was the last place I had seen the _him_. The last place that held a part of him…for _me._

He came back the next day, during the evening. My sisters moved closer, forming a circle, their fingers reaching out like tentacles ready to strike. The black spots where their eyes were seemed to glow in the darkness; to brighten and simultaneously darken with excitement.

Sharp teeth blinked in the dim glow of the sunset. Wings unfurled and grew enraged, as though they, too, were angry at how long the young man managed to escape them. Something happened that night…something I cannot quite understand. My mouth opened, ready to devour his energy along with my sisters because I was hungry, just like them. But something stopped me…it was the same ache that'd held my fingers steady the day before. I got closer that evening, closer to touching him than I'd ever been. His soul, his _life_ had been mere inches from mine, from what you can call my soul. I had felt it, pulsing in the room, growing brighter as we neared, as though daring us to come closer.

There was no fear in his gaze as he turned, stopping us in our sharp-toothed tracks. Only curiosity…and when his gaze swept over mine, I could only feel the same. Curious about _him. _ It was that ache all over again, stronger this time, as though it were pushing me towards him, hungry for his touch-

The fire was gone. He ran out the door, apparently satisfied with what he'd found. I entwined my fingers and placed them over my face once more, unmoving and unseeing from my place in the center of the room.

My sisters were unhappy, this much I could tell. Though Angels are unable to speak, I could feel their resentment flood the small room, pouring through my fingers and marking itself upon my stone.

I didn't care. For once, I did not wish to listen to my sisters, and follow them blindly. Instead, I followed him…at least down the overgrown, thorn-filled path. He picked his way amongst the spots of brown very nimbly…and I wished more than once that I could join him, perhaps fall and have him catch me in his arms. I wondered what it would be like to be _human._

I stopped at the gate. My sisters and I knew about the city, about all of the eyes it harbored. All of the _life._ Even so, we never took such risks. We never saw a need to. I briefly thought for a moment about jumping onto his car, digging my hands into the metal and holding on for dear life.

If I could shake my head, I would've. But a part of me didn't want to. That strange part that had appeared with him, that _insisted_ upon pushing me further and further away from my sisters. Their aloofness didn't help. And for once, the silence that always came when we were alone seemed to suffocate me rather than ease my nerves.

And we don't even breathe.

That was the first problem I noticed, feeling like my throat had a sharp piece of fiery hot lead shoved down it, scraping along the insides of my body. It only happened once the young man had left…and once again, when he returned for a few moments, jotted down some notes, and didn't even glance my way.

A need to touch him, that was normal. Stopping myself…curious, but this need to _breathe…_

I didn't dare ask my sisters about it. I suppose that was my first mistake. My second was passing by next to a mirror.

It happened two days after I discovered the strange…tension in my throat. The house was empty except for us and the puddles forming from the deluge overhead. Rather than covering my face with my hands, I went with an open face, my eyes open to the strange world that is Earth-

A mirror. There was a mirror in front of me. Unobtrusive, quite simple and small…yet my eyes had latched onto it as soon as I entered the doorway.

But then my finger twitched. This was not supposed to happen, I was supposed to be frozen to the spot because of my carelessness, my stupidity…

But I could _move. _I was looking at myself (and my jagged teeth scared even me, to be honest) and I could twist my head, unfurl my wings. I practically jumped out of the doorway, while something like a hammer pounded away at my chest. Whatever was in there seemed ready to break out and attack, or perhaps just fall to the ground and shatter into a million pieces.

I spread out my fingers in front of my eyes, as if they had been holding captive some terrible secret and have finally been allowed to release it.

But no. All I saw was gray and stone.

But the feeling that something was _wrong_ inside of me, that I was not the statue I once was, wouldn't leave me. That young man…it had all begun because of _him,_ and although I knew he wasn't to blame, I wanted to tear his eyes out.

I resolved upon smashing the mirror instead. The pieces of glass trickled down onto the floor. Some landed in the puddles, while others hugged only the floor.

I had to settle upon hugging myself. I didn't understand what my arms were doing, at first. After smashing the mirror, my arm began to shake…and then move towards my body. My other hand did the same, and soon I was wrapped in a tangle of stone. That strange feeling was back, except now the suffocation was stronger, its nimble fingers crossing themselves around my neck, my throat-

I tore my eyes open and fell backwards onto the slippery floor. That was the second problem that I kept track of. Angels never fell. My hands, only seconds ago wrapped around each other, had somehow found their way to my neck. Touching it only made the pain flare up. Something wet began to stain my cheeks.

Problem number three. Angels never cried.

I had seen humans cry before. Usually, it was right before my fingers invaded their personal space. But once in a while, little moments caught my eyes. A man on one knee, holding out something that shimmered and sparkled in the sunlight. The woman in front of him was crying, just like I was. But then she hugged him…humans were a strange race. Water ran from their eyes when they were both happy _and _sad, it seemed. I had observed a little girl crying after her ball had rolled off of the road and into a river. She had sat down on the grass and cried, fat tears rolling down her chubby cheeks.

But there was no happy feeling inside my chest. This suffocating feeling was upon me once again, leaping up and tearing me apart.

_The boy…perhaps now I will be able to touch him without harming him…_Truth be told, I think that was the only thought that finally got me off of that floor. My mouth kept opening and closing, as if I was a fish out of water, struggling to breathe. The scariest part about that analogy is that is hits much too close to the truth to be funny.

Gasping and wheezing (and sounding very much like an ancient man close to death), I escaped the confines of the old house and my sisters. Once I was outside, I felt a part of the weight leave my body, and I somewhat straightened out my back. My wings were heavier than they'd ever been, but I could at least walk without feeling as though they were going to be torn from my skin by the sheer weight of them.

There was a car near the gate. _His _car. I'd certainly seen it enough times to recognize it. My legs, that used to glide upon the stone floors, now plonked along the grass, slipping and sliding, but doing so soundlessly. I should've noticed. I should've stopped moving once I realized he didn't hear me crash into a bush.

But my feet were moving of their own accord, and once I could count freckles my breathing problems ceased to worry me. I could only focus on his hair, and how close it was, how _red _it was, and how my fingers were pulled forward by some intangible string, getting closer until they were on fire, burning with the relish of him being mere inches away-

He took a step back. My fingers, instead of brushing his hair, landed on his shoulder. His shoulder that was covered by some white t-shirt. His skin never grazed mine. I never felt what I was _sure_ would be a burn from his hair.

The air seemed to shimmer for a moment, and everything floated as if in water.

Then he vanished. The water burned up from his fire, turning into smoke and blowing away by the wind.

Someone screamed near me, but I felt my fingers twitch. I supposed there was something human in me after all, because I still think that scream was my own.

I had never been completely human. I was never a complete Angel ever again. As I turned, I saw black cars parading slowly down the street. I just stood and stared, daring one of them to come near me and blink.

But even if they did, I don't think I would have been able to touch them. That ache was back, and this time, I knew it was only going to get worse.

But for the moment, there was no feeling in my chest at all. None besides a strong urge to follow that black parade. Perhaps it had something to do with the red-headed youngster rubbing his eyes as he walked next to the largest car. Perhaps it was the fact that he looked exactly like the boy who had finally fulfilled my dream.

I was not sure how far back I had transported the boy. I followed at a distance, planning to wait until everyone had left. I just wanted to see his face one more time. But there was no urge to touch. I had done enough of that already.

The cemetery was a simple one. The service was silent except for the man holding a big book. He read out of it, and occasionally a woman cried out, sobbing harshly into either a handkerchief or someone's shoulder. The little boy simply wiped his face once in a while, but otherwise stared straight ahead at the coffin.

When the big book was closed, the filed out past me. I stood by the gate, hands partially covering my eyes, looking as if I had every right to be there.

An Angel guarding the Gates of Death.

The boy passed by me last, and suddenly stopped right next to me. He turned, his face blank, seemingly uninterested in the world around him. But when he turned, he looked right at me, right into my eyes. I felt a scream rising up in my throat again, ready to burst.

That boy looked like he _knew._

But a moment passed, and he walked on, arms swinging at his sides. I never saw him again.

The gravestones with the empty names seemed to welcome me as a glided past. The young man I had fallen in love with – if you can call it love – had been buried inside a tomb. There were three stairs leading up to his coffin encased in stone. And that is where I lay down.

You can still fine me, lying by his side. He has already passed through the Gates of Death. I am still finding my way there. Angels are not supposed to die. If there is something human left inside me, it is dying right now. And when it leaves, I wish to leave with it.

Being human was painful and strange and aching and throbbing and loving and thundering. It was wonderful.


End file.
